


In Which John Learns Nothing Is Safe From Sherlock Holmes, Not Even Fortune Cookies

by endlesshorizons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fortune Cookies, Humor, John loves it, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sherlock is ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesshorizons/pseuds/endlesshorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fortune cookies don't get things right. Unless Sherlock is writing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which John Learns Nothing Is Safe From Sherlock Holmes, Not Even Fortune Cookies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commie/gifts).



> Based on [this post](http://yourdailydoseofjohnlock.tumblr.com/post/92574761625/imagine-an-au-where-sherlock-owns-a-chinese-place).

John first notices it when they go to a Chinese restaurant after a case one night. It's past midnight, and there is only one other couple there, sitting one table over from where they are by the corner. They are sparring with their chopsticks over the last piece of shrimp, John trying not to giggle at Sherlock's deductions about how Molly's cat has been systematically destroying Greg's ties in a jealous fit, when a shriek breaks out from the other table.

"Let me see!" one of the young men says, grinning and trying to grab at something in his date's hands, who is staring at it with his mouth open and a flush rapidly rising up his neck.

"No!" he says, clutching whatever it is closer to his chest.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he cajols with a saucy wink. He throws a small packet up and down in one hand, and John realises they are talking about their fortune cookies.

The other boy replies with a vehement shake of his head.

"Oh come on, what can it possibly say? That you're going to get hit by a zamboni? Eaten by a goat? All the _dirty, dirty_ things I'm going to do to you tonight?"

Impossibly, his boyfriend blushes even further and glances at where John and Sherlock are watching in amusement. John coughs and turns back to his meal, kicking at Sherlock beneath the table to do the same.

Seconds later, a howl erupts from the other table and John can't help but look back.

"'It's OK if you still sleep with a pink teddy bear with a puerile name like Mr. Cuddles. So does 37% of the adult population.'" The first boy reads aloud, laughing. "Do you actually? Have a pink teddy bear named Mr. Cuddles?"

Opposite him, the other boy nods. "Actually, his name is just Cuddles," he mumbles. He sinks down in his seat, as if he wants to sink into the floor and never, ever come out again.

Finally, John takes pity on him. "Don't worry, mate," he calls to the boy and gestures at Sherlock, "mine still needs me to check if there's a monster under the bed, and he's nearly forty." John grins. After the last few years, he finally gets to call Sherlock his, and he'll be damned if he doesn't take every opportunity to do so. "And don't even get me started on his blanky."

"John! I do not!" Sherlock exclaims with the most scandalised expression on his face. John dissolves into a fit of giggles. It's really just too much for a man to handle.

 

The next time they go out for Chinese food is at noon one day. The little restaurant is busy, and they have to wait for a couple minutes before a table opens up. Sherlock is completely absorbed in his thoughts today. John orders for both of them, then looks around as he waits for the food to arrive.

The table beside them is hosting a group of five elderly men and women, chatting as they languidly sip their dessert soup.

"Oh no, where are my reading glasses?" one of the ladies suddenly says. She scans the table and frowns. "I'm sure I put it down here earlier."

"Are you sure you brought them?" one of the others at the table asks.

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes them again. "Well -- I thought I did. But maybe not." She picks up the fortune cookie lying on top of her bill, popping it open and drawing out the fortune inside. "Read this for me, will you, dear?"

The man beside her takes the piece of paper from her, then frowns. "It just says 'Inside pocket of purse.'"

"They're making some really strange fortunes these days, " she replies, but reaches into her purse and unzips the inner pocket. "Oh, my glasses!" she says, looking a little dazed.

 

It happens, again and again. Two teenagers blush as their friends make kissing noises around them. A woman storms out, shouting abuse at her cheating date. The incidents don't even always take place at the same restaurant. John is bemused. When did fortune cookies actually start being _right_? He glances over at Sherlock, then shakes his head. How would he do something like that anyway? There are some things even Sherlock Holmes can't accomplish.

 

One lazy Sunday night, after an equally lazy Sunday afternoon, John and Sherlock decide to call takeaway.

"Chinese?"

John nods, then jolts up to catch the phone Sherlock throws at him. He rolls his eyes and dials the number.

Forty minutes later, John returns from a trip to the bathroom to find Sherlock unpacking takeout containers on the coffee table. He's surprised that Sherlock actually bothered to answer the door, instead of yelling at John to zip up and go downstairs. That's when he notices the little piece of clear plastic poking out from underneath the sofa, only a few inches from Sherlock's socked feet. He charges over and swipes it before Sherlock can even react.

"Aha!" he says, thrusting the fortune cookie wrapper in Sherlock's face.

There's a box under the couch, and he reaches over to pull it out. Inside are a dozen more wrappers, a small air pump and a label-making machine.

"Seriously? It was you?"

"Of course, John. What did you think, that fortune cookies can actually tell the future?" he scoffs.

John looks up at Sherlock's extremely serious expression, then back down at the box in front of him, and bursts into laughter. "Ridiculous. You're completely ridiculous!"

A soft smile makes its way onto Sherlock's face. "That's what you love about me."

"Yes, yes it is," John says, returning the smile.

They finish the meal in front of the telly. Sherlock deduces the participants on the talk show, only pausing to take bites of spring rolls and chicken. These days, John has more or less given up on actually being able to finish a television programme, though Sherlock's commentary is often far more amusing anyway. Finally, they've cleared their plates and John reaches over for a fortune cookie. He thinks about the box still under the sofa.

"You've put something in these haven't you?"

Sherlock shrugs.

"Hm, I wonder what it says. Is this about that new jumper I got the other day? Or the book I was reading earlier?"

"Just open it."

Grinning, John does. The piece of paper contains two lines of text.

_You are the bravest, kindest, and wisest man I have ever known._  
 _Marry me._


End file.
